


All this mean I by Love (the out of time remix)

by claudine



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 2017 Camelot Remix, Alternate Canon, Camelot Remix, Canon Era, F/F, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Female Character, S1 Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-03 18:28:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10972908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudine/pseuds/claudine
Summary: When morning comes, Morgana wakes. Her dreams are oft only half-remembered, a wispy thing that disappears into the heat of noon, chased off by the noise and the scent of life in the castle.Right now, she is still ensconced in the warmth of a body beside her, a coverlet cocooning them in their private world.“Did you sleep well?” Gwen whispers into her ear.“I dreamt,” Morgana says. She reaches out, as if to catch the remnants of the dream. Gwen catches her hand and slips her fingers in between hers. “I dreamt of a life where you were not wed to my brother.”





	All this mean I by Love (the out of time remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/gifts).
  * Inspired by [With all this, I mean love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/73489) by [glim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim). 



> Thank you very much to everyone who encouraged and enabled me to sign-up for Remix! (Twitter squad, ya'll are evil :))  
> Special thanks to [fuzzytomato](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzytomato) and [nomical](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nomical) for the beta and reassurances. 
> 
> Dear glim, you have a wealth of wonderful fic, and I only wish I've done some justice to your beautiful prose.

When morning comes, Morgana wakes. Her dreams are oft only half-remembered, a wispy thing that disappears into the heat of noon, chased off by the noise and the scent of life in the castle.

Right now, she is still ensconced in the warmth of a body beside her, a coverlet cocooning them in their private world.

“Did you sleep well?” Gwen whispers into her ear.

“I dreamt,” Morgana says. She reaches out, as if to catch the remnants of the dream. Gwen catches her hand and slips her fingers in between hers. “I dreamt of a life where you were not wed to my brother.”

“Morgana,” Gwen says her name, simply. They both know that if it had not been for Arthur, she would never have come to Camelot. She would have wedded another. A lesser king, perhaps, if what Morgana’s dreams tell her are true.

(They are, always.)

“I know,” Morgana says. “But it is fine. We have our lives ahead of us.” Her voice is assured, the foggy haze of sleep gone. Gwen’s fingers tighten in hers. In this life, they are soft, the nails elegantly shaped.

“How do you know?”

Morgana looks at her love, her eyes drawn to Gwen’s. They belie nothing, as fitting of someone who will be High Queen some day.

She leans forward, cupping Gwen’s face in her hands. Gwen’s eyes slip shut as Morgana’s lips touches hers.

“My lady, my queen,” Morgana says, her voice pitched low.

It is not yet time for Gwen to know.

* * *

 

It has been ten years since Morgana’s dreams started. On some days, they are terrifying, and she wakes up with a fear that feels too real to be imagined.

In a recurring dream, there is a woman who is wild-eyed and angry, full of power and an all-consuming vengeance. Her hatred burns bright, almost palpable from the confines of the nightmare. There is fire, and pain, like her soul is being cleaved in two.

It takes Morgana years to realize that the woman is her.

* * *

 

Arthur Pendragon, the only son of Uther Pendragon, is gifted with a manservant just before his twenty-first birthday.

He is shy around Morgana, but around Arthur, he is a nail that refuses to be hammered down.

She has never seen Arthur so taken with any one person in the years she has lived in Camelot.

“Foolish, insubordinate, _reckless_ —”

“But loyal,” Morgana says, her voice even.

“Yes,” Arthur admits, his cheeks flushed pink. “He is.”

Morgana tips her head to one side, smiling. She considers Arthur before her for a long moment, and then looks down to resume her needlework.

“You could write him a letter.”

“I—” Arthur starts, and then thinks better of it. “Perhaps.”

* * *

 

The garden is hidden away in a forgotten part of the castle. It is early still, and the sun is but a blush behind the clouds. Their bed of grass is dampened by dew, seeping in through the blanket that Gwen has laid over it.

Guinevere is in a beautiful cream nightgown, the cloth as fine as a spider’s web. It was a present from Arthur, one of many that had been sent over when their betrothal had been announced. Morgana had chosen it, and it is for this reason that her heart trills in joy to see Gwen in it now.

Morgana takes her time to look. Gwen’s lips are shiny from kissing, and her hair, usually braided in an intricate style, falls free over her shoulders. Her eyes are bright, not hiding anything from Morgana’s gaze. This here she sees—that Gwen loves her in the way that no-one has loved her before. She feels it in Gwen’s trembling when she touches her skin, when she slides a finger inside her. She hears it in the hitch of breath, the low moan, and then the loud, throaty sounds she allows herself in the seclusion of the garden.

She has her dreams, but this is a kind of power, too. She is restrained by her love for her queen.

Her jaw is sore, and her lips wet.

* * *

 

The first time Morgana dreams, she is six. It is the night before she is to ride to Camelot. She dreams of a King and a Queen who unite the kingdom, and bring prosperity to all. There is a woman in a green gown who takes care of the Queen. In her heart, she knows that the woman is her.

That is the first dream of many.


End file.
